


tell me something good

by wildcard_47



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: (Polar) Midnight Confessions, And Your Shipboard Crushes, Awkward Talks About Your Feelings, M/M, Multi, is this a kissing fic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 05:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17318780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcard_47/pseuds/wildcard_47
Summary: Sequel to "want you bad." During Francis's convalescence,Erebus'sCaptain andTerror'sIce Master sit down for a shockingly honest conversation.





	tell me something good

Since Sir John’s brutal dismissal of his Second in _Erebus’s_ Great Cabin, hours before their leader's untimely death, James Fitzjames had become acquainted with a sort of desperate gnawing pang in his stomach with regards to Captain Francis Crozier, a feeling he had initially classified as falling somewhere between pity and secondhand shame.

How should a man so badly-suited to command – so brutish and ill-tempered in his morbings, who cared so little for his men and his many duties – somehow rise further here, when any number of qualified men might have attained his post instead? 

Before that time, James had spent hours staring at the back of Crozier’s muffler-covered neck or sneaking looks at that permanent frown from across the bergs, or the Great Cabin’s oil lamps, asking the same question time and time again. 

_ Why the devil are you here? Why risk all our necks and our good fortune if you don’t even believe the deed is possible? _

When the truth of the matter had finally spilled out over two tumblers of whiskey, it had struck James to the core so deeply he had wanted to weep.  _ Ensure Sir John’s judgment and keep him safe. Those were her orders. Sophia. _

Her Christian name whispered so reverently it was as if the lady herself stood in the doorway, poised to embrace him. 

For merely a second, no trace of rancor had lined Francis’s face, simply a clear abiding longing. James had been startled beyond measure to see the man thus altered. It ought to have been the sort of tender picture ladies dreamed over; the soft, doe-eyed expression that sent young girls scurrying to secure such a man as their devoted husband. Instead, the feelings had propelled Francis toward what he had loudly and bitterly proclaimed would spell his ultimate doom.

And he had walked toward that fate with open arms, apparently – all for her. 

_ Sophia. _

James lost countless hours of sleep recalling the worshipful manner in which Francis murmured that name: as if each syllable was beyond beauty itself.

How could the drunken cad whom he had spent so many months despising have such passionate depths of feeling secreted away inside him? If he had concealed a lover’s broken heart to such a degree, what other surprises lay beyond the dark surface? And why did no one else seem to believe those same depths existed at all?

Deep in his heart, James also suspected that Sophia Cracroft knew how much she had asked of her would-be knight, yet had not cared one whit; simply toyed with Francis’s clumsy affections and then cast him aside as blithely as a spoilt child might discard an old toy. Of course that would anger the man. Of course it would drive him to brood – to drink.

After several days, the vague pity that lodged heavy in James’s breast soon turned to fury, radiating hotter than a Fraser stove. He began to regard Miss Cracroft less as a lady and more as a treacherous Delilah – favored in all her accomplishments and with such natural beauty, held in highest estimation by the  _ ton _ – and who deserved no such regard. She had behaved so cruelly toward a man whose only crime had been to love her. A man who sought so very little of her affections in return.

How dare Sophia Cracroft ask such sacrifice from Francis, knowing full well his good opinion of her, when she had no intention of ever marrying him!  And how dare Francis offer himself up so carelessly, knowing he could never truly accomplish what she asked – knowing it would likely kill him!

James had never loved any woman in such a feckless manner, but in private, he stewed over the enormity of this injustice on the  _ Terror  _ Captain’s behalf till he thought he might truly go mad.

Apart from Miss Cracroft and the drink, Francis was logical and intelligent in many respects. He would not take impassioned pleas from a pretty face as orders equal to or above the Admiralty’s jurisprudence – nay, could not do so, by his very oath of allegiance! 

And yet he had managed to do just that.

Such a feat of will was made even more impressive considering that he had never held sway with the Admiralty as a body, and did not possess the stomach for such politics; James had witnessed this much in their brief encounters prior to setting off. 

Francis would have had to convince them he was needed above all else. He would have had to present himself as the only logical option for such a voyage, despite all the marks against him. Knowing even Sir John regarded this cause as folly.

_ Send me. Use me. _

No mere cuckold would protect their beloved’s family above their own, all while failing to protect themselves from further grief. Indeed, no ordinary man would  _ ever _ –

That was it, in the end. 

For all his tempers, and his broodings, and his vices, what stunned James most about Francis was this revelatory discovery:  _ he was no ordinary man. _

This knowledge had changed his measure of and his feelings for his Captain nearly overnight.

Such a swift change in estimation had seemed almost drolly amusing at first – had bewildered and then annoyed James in equal capacity. Of course he would be drawn to the single person on this voyage least inclined even to tolerate his company – even here when there were so very few eyes to attract. Of course he should rage and fight and plead with Francis for even the smallest considerations. But that was not so far outside the usual pattern of things. In past, his inclinations had always bordered on the perilously tragic; why should the newest be any different?

It was not until the night in  _ Terror’s  _ Great Cabin, when a tearful, anguished Francis had laid bare his deepest failures and his next course of action in the starkest possible terms that James felt his own heart lurch in a most violent manner.

_ You must also care for me, as well. _

As if the task were equal to some ship’s boy’s seasonal chore. A mere afterthought.

_ I will be in no position to command. That will be for Captain Fitzjames, for all things. _

James had wanted to grasp the man by the shoulders, shake some measure of sense into him. Do not leave me to lead the company alone, goddamn you! He had wanted to rush to Francis’s side, embrace him as a brother. You are not the only man at fault here. Do not act so rashly when your very life is at risk! He had wanted –

Well. James had wanted so many outcomes as a result of this posting, none of which were remotely possible now. And the thought of Francis Crozier as a skilled Captain, or as an extraordinary man, or as an ardent lover did not amuse him any longer.

 

##

 

Given that Francis was now gravely indisposed by  _ delirium tremens,  _ it was child’s play for James to summon  _ Terror’s  _ Ice Master to the wardroom for a few minutes of private conversation. The entire company might expect such a courtesy to be observed, even, considering Francis was publicly known to be ill, and that the  _ Terror  _ Captain and his Ice Master were equally well-known as loyal and devoted friends.

What could not happen – nay, what  _ certainly  _ would not happen – was an inquiry into the private moment Fitzjames had overheard between Francis and his Ice Master, on the day of the last football match.

_ He had intended to extend an olive branch after the many disastrous clashes following Sir John’s death. In truth, he felt wretchedly guilty over shouting at Francis in front of the other officers; the man had not deserved such temper. Upon reflection, and after shedding additional tears, he understood that sending Fairholme’s party for Fort Resolute had been the correct decision. He had merely been too heartbroken to see it at the time. _

_ And so he had left the  _ Erebites _ and the  _ Terrors _ to their match, after making Henry and Edward promise they should referee the remainder of the game with honor. He had not really considered what he might say to the  _ Terror _ Captain as he walked the half-mile to Terror and boarded the ship, nor had he considered that Francis would be occupied by anything of importance save for perhaps fixing their position or pouring additional whiskey. _

_ It was not until James was outside the Great Cabin, unwinding his scarf from his neck and shaking snow from the sleeve of his greatcoat that he had heard the telltale squeaking of bunk slats moving in rhythm as someone rocked to and fro atop it. He had taken several more seconds to place the noises as coming from inside the Great Cabin, and several more till he realized his knees had begun shaking, quite of their own accord. And then he heard them – the only vaguely recognizable words Francis would utter for several minutes: _

James – please!

_ At this, James’s vision went vaguely blurry around the edges; for once in his life, he was profoundly grateful to be alone, as he could never have explained away such ungentlemanly conduct otherwise. Standing outside the berth of a fellow Captain who by all rights hated him, and hearing him say – hearing him do – _

Francis.

_ James did not know whether he had said the name aloud, but it did not matter; the noises from within had reached a glorious frenzied crescendo and James’s legs would no longer hold him up; he had to sink into the nearest chair, fully lightheaded, and breathe very deeply for several minutes before he could collect his bearings once again. _

_ All further actions were a blur. He remembered knocking on the door, desperate to get in yet feeling even more tongue-tied than before. He even remembered Francis’s expression once he pulled the door open – equal parts amused and annoyed – because when the man had turned and James saw the debauched state of the back of that ginger hair, it had got his heart pounding all over again. Imagining Francis pleasuring himself with abandon, writhing fretfully against his own pillows, coming off like a water pump – _

_ And then James had spotted Tom Blanky lounging beside the captain’s table, with nary a hair out of place, calmly finishing two fingers of whisky. _

Thus, James would not allude to any of it. He had no time to indulge in such fleeting notions as petty jealousy when they would likely march out within a month or two of first sunrise. He had no right to nurse grudges toward an Ice Master as skilled or as well-liked by the crew as Tom Blanky. Particularly as James held no relevant claims to Francis’s heart, nor his body, no matter how desperately he wished otherwise.

“Cap’n?”

Startled, and striving not to show it, James blinked, adjusted his position in the chair. Tom Blanky was currently sitting across from him in the Great Cabin. “My apologies, Master Blanky. I have missed the final word in that sentence. You were saying?”

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but ‘m not certain this is the best time to be havin’ such a conversation. If’n you’d truly like to talk about John Ross’s rubbish heap of a book for reasons other’n morbid curiosity.”

“Hmph.” James smiled without meaning to, and quickly tempered this expression. “Perhaps I have not done well at concealing my own distractions as of late. I seem to be as open as a well-worn children’s primer.”

“Eh.” Blanky scratched at one side of his beard, shrugged slightly. “More like I’ve had practice at studyin’ what isn’t oft said.”

He met James’s eyes with an intensity that was rather startling.

“Considerin’ what we’ll all soon be up against, I should hope to speak freely to ye for a moment. Between us, private-like. One sailor to the next, eh?”

“Naturally,” James began, in his kindest and most brotherly voice, but Blanky shook his head no, very slightly.

“I’ve noticed ‘ow ye look at our Francis, see.”

James’s face drained of all color, though he made a concerted effort to remain impassive, and drew himself up to his full height, as slowly as he could.

“And given tha’ we’re about to cross hundreds of fuckin’ miles under the banner of Queen an’ country – mebee save our own skins to boot, if Providence goes with us  – I reckon we ought not let th’ unspoken colour over us now, while we’ve still the chance to address it.”

The room felt as if it were closing in around him, narrowing down to nothing save for the Ice Master and the sensation of the tabletop resting beneath James’s extended forearms. “I – Blanky, I must assure you that I have never – ”

“Fitzjames, if ye don’t already know this much about walking, I’ll tell it plain: e’en the smallest splinter’ll fester and rot under those conditions. You’ve made rather a habit of starin’ at our Frank like ‘e’s a bloody oasis and you’re dyin’ve thirst. Type of look only a certain kind’ve lad gives to his fellow men. Ye’ve worn it, and I’ve seen it. Jus’ like you saw me and mine.”

“Why – tell me this?” was all James could choke out.

“Spirit of brutal honesty, I reckon.” Blanky shrugged a second time, pulled a thoughtful face. “Now it’s out in the open, like, and that’s owt I’ve got to say about it. Haven’t thee anythin’ to offer in return, eh? Nothin’ you might want to ask, whilst we’ve the chance?”

A thousand possible rejoinders flooded James’s throat and threatened to spill across his tongue. The usual witty protestations, a few rather vicious barbs, as well as untold manner of bellowing censures.  _ Do not utter such blasphemous folly in my presence ever again! _ It was not until James opened his mouth to speak that he finally realized: the knot of words stuck in his throat was not the urge to  _ speak  _ but a far more hideous and pernicious urge. His eyes stung hot, his breath stuttered in his chest, and the mere task of keeping stoic in the face of such insanities became impossible.

Two quick tears dropped from the corners of his eyes. He had to swallow one sob and then another before he felt he had some faint measure of control, and wrenched his face toward the wall for a long moment before turning back to the Ice Master, who was now watching him with no small amount of shock.

“Whatever I might want is im – immaterial,” was all James said at last, voice breaking across the final few words.

For perhaps the first time in their long acquaintance, Blanky looked utterly stricken. Quickly, before James could protest, he reached forward across the table, and covered James’s outstretched palm with one of his. The gesture, meant kindly, only increased James’s visible distress. He hid his face from view with the other hand, ashamed beyond measure.

“Whisht, whisht. There now, little duck. I’ve not meant to upset ye.”

“I’m not  _ upset _ ,” James snapped in reply.

“Course not.” Blanky’s rough fingers rubbed small circles into his wrist. “You’re jus’ havin’ a bit of a day, is all.”

“It’s nothing to me, obviously.” James’s voice was a whisper. “A prior understanding exists. I have no claim. And the man barely tolerates my presence as is – ”

He clenched his jaw to keep from breaking down a second time.

Blanky let out a heavy sigh. “Oh, duck. Imagine carryin’ this out on the road, eh?”

“I must,” James choked out. “I must. He carries us all, and I will not add to his burdens. I’d die before I – ”

Quickly, he cut off the remainder of that sentence, but it was not enough. He had revealed his hand. The words had already been writ. 

“Christ,” said Blanky after several long moments of silence. “Think ye may well love him, bein’ honest.”

Sitting up at last, James sniffed in blatant disbelief, and sagged backwards into his chair, pulling his hands away and folding both arms across his chest. “Don’t be absurd.”

“So if I was to say he and our Sophia should’ve married – ”

“She _ never _ deserved him.”

A brief pause. “‘M aware of that much, mind. But your havin’ stronger feelings o’er it than Francis is quite a – ”

“Do  _ you _ love him, then?” James finally snapped, fixing the Ice Master with a full-faced glare.

“Oh, aye,” answered Blanky, unflinching. “We’ve had our good times, mind, and more’n our share of the bad as well, but there’re precious few folk on this earth who know me the way he does. Only other’d be my wife.”

“Well, I assume your wife doesn’t know about him, does she?”

“And thee’d be an ass to suppose it, James, make no mistake there.”

Good Christ. James slumped backwards in his chair, unable to comprehend it.

Blanky just laughed. “Woman’s known me forty bloody years. We’ve a family together. An’ I should think she’s well glad for me t’find warmth every now and then with a body she likes ‘n’ can trust ‘stead of some dozy doxy. Once said that long as she’s my home in the end, an’ I’m ‘ers, she don’t much care about the rest, slithee?”

“Christ,” hissed James, scrubbing at his eyes again. “How I envy you.”

Such pernicious jealousy weighed down every atom of his body, made him more glum than ever. How rare to find a wife who should not only know that bonds of love could exist between men, but who should permit them, even. Celebrate them. No wonder Tom Blanky was so ebullient a fellow in return, and possessed such a fighting spirit. James might move heaven and earth itself to get back to such a home. The best of wives and the best of women.

Pushing himself into a standing position, Blanky rounded the captain’s table, slowly, leaning his weight on his left hand as he walked. James could only stare as the Ice Master limped over, pulled out the chair next to James with the walking stick in his right hand, and sank heavily into this seat.

“Fuck me,” he said on the edge of a groan, and pulled a disgusted face. “Balance is a mite off, still.”

“Tom, you don’t have to do this,” sighed James in response. Clearly the man was attempting to tell him something rather serious, or to dispense friendly advice, and while James appreciated the clear effort, he was not as certain if he wanted to hear it.

“Don’t I fuckin’ know it, Jamie boy. Now, as I’m stuck in sickbay till MacDonald says otherwise, consider this the biggest bloody favor I’ll ever ask of ya.” Blanky settled back in his seat again, and gently tapped James on the leg with his walking stick, as if to mirror their relative injuries. “Tell ‘im the truth now, while ye’ve still got the chance, and he’s got the time to hear it full and clear.”

“He’s not – ” James swallowed the first words on his tongue, glanced quickly at the closed door. “The man is indisposed.”

“Aye, that he is, an’ tomorrow he may well push little Tommy Jopson into the privy for want of fresh air and half-decent conversation. Even Francis’ll admit you could talk ol’ Nick back into heaven itself, mind. I’ve no doubt ye could conjure up a reason to spend a few minutes in his company.”

Even James could not bite back a smile at this ridiculous picture. Although Francis was not a social creature by any means, even he was likely chafing at the degree of isolation by now. It was equally true that James had not been able to visit Terror as much as he would have liked during his friend’s convalescence. Perhaps he ought to speak to Francis about a few ship’s matters, settle the timeline for the walk if not on the idea itself. 

And if he could not gather up the courage to broach subjects of a personal nature, then that particular folly was his own. He could at least inform the Ice Master that he had tried, and failed, as he had failed at so many things during the course of this expedition.

“I shall – attempt to do so, then,” said James finally, and tapped two fingers against the table’s edge in a restless motion, as if he had decided on a further course of action. “If such a promise will bring you some measure of peace.”

“Hah!” Blanky actually laughed. “Peace ain’t bloody fuckin’ likely in this place. But ‘m glad to hear ye’ll try. That’s all I ask.”

“Yes.” James let out a sigh of relief. He did feel calmer, now, all things considered. “Well. We shall need to speak about the book you mentioned previously at some other time. Let us be finished for now.”

 

##

 

_ Blast this fucking lumpy buggering bed and every-bloody-body keeping me in it. _

Although he was relatively improved today, and was lying on clean linens in fresh pajamas in a berth that had been well scrubbed, Francis was several minutes into a furious, if completely silent tirade made only to the ceiling and the rats below decks when the door to the Great Cabin creaked open.

Seconds later, it closed again. Unfamiliar footsteps treaded the ground before a familiar figure appeared in front of the open doorway.

“James?” Francis could not yet tell whether he had imagined the man as part of some strange bout of Second Sight. “God’s blood. Is it really you?”

Fitzjames brightened considerably, and met Francis’s shocked gaze with a brilliant smile. “Hello, Francis.”

“Jesus God. Come in at once,” huffed Francis in relief, and motioned him forward with one weak hand. “Don’t just stand out there like a ninny.”

“You seem – rather improved, since last I heard.” Fitzjames crossed the few feet with incredible ease, and pulled up the deck chair beside Francis’s bunk. His smile had not yet dimmed, and had perhaps even widened. “Are you hale and hearty once more?”

“Clearly not,” grumbled Francis, yet conceded one point of fact. “Though I can drink water and eat solid food without sicking my guts up. That’s new.”

“How vivid,” said Fitzjames drily, though his eyes gleamed with good humour.

Francis laughed at the man’s disapproving tone, then winced as a sudden fluttering discomfort bloomed to life in his stomach. Christ. Perhaps he’d spoken too soon. 

“Hope you’ve not come on pressing business. Afraid I won’t be much use to you for a few days yet.”

“Peace,” said James, and held up a hand to silence further protest. “This is a purely social call. Tom Blanky bade me deliver you the following message from sickbay.” He held out a sealed letter to Francis, who took it, and opened the missive to see the following:

 

> _ Dear Francis, _
> 
> _ Consider us well and truly bored without you, you great Irish layabout. I do hope you have beat the worst of the ague by now. And do not allowe our messenger to go off home without at least having a few words, eh? _
> 
> _ Can rightly say we look forward with hope to your being restored safely to us, or to the two thirds of us that remain, at any rate Mr Honey and Weeks have brought me over a capital new limb in the meantime, I daresay even Christ himself could not have built one better. Then again he probably should have hated putting in the nails. _
> 
> _ I remain as ever the best bloody Yorkshireman in the whole bloody country – _
> 
> _ T.B. _

 

“Arsehole,” grumbled Francis with a roll of his eyes, but one corner of his mouth quirked up as he handed the letter over to James. “S’pose I ought to apologize to the man at last, hm?”

James’s forehead creased in a deep frown; he looked up from the letter and stared at Francis as if he’d just spoken in Inuktitut.

“Well. Probably should do, given all that’s happened.” Sighing, Francis fixed the  _ Erebus  _ Captain with a self-deprecating look, and sank back into his pillows. “Course I’d have to sort the worst of it out aloud first.”

“Francis, I don’t think he... ”

“How the hell would you begin such a thing, if you were composing it? Sorry I’ve lost you half your damned leg, hope things are well?”

James’s expression had moved from merely puzzled to scandalised. “You cannot possibly think – this is not solely your doing, Francis.”

Francis pulled a face. “Wouldn’t have happened had I not sent him on deck in a drink-fuelled temper.”

“No.” James sat back in his chair, then forward, and put a hand on the mattress next to Francis’s leg. “No, sir. I refuse to let you shoulder the blame entire in this manner.”

“Oh, come now, James. What could possibly – ”

“Obviously you did not unleash a co-ordinated attack on your own ship. Moreover, you did not order Tom to keep the beast occupied and away from the men – brave and noble as that deed undoubtedly was, it was his decision alone – ”

“But I did not help him. I couldn’t stop any of it.”

“None of us could!” hissed James, and balled up the hand that currently rested next to Francis’s knee, till the linens stretched taut across Francis’s right leg. “Do you think it pleases me to recall that this creature still stalks our ships? I had a clear shot that night, and could have killed it, and yet I failed in even that simple task. Do not berate yourself so, Francis; I cannot bear to see you further burdened.”

Francis had no idea why his Second was so set against a mere apology – and a well-deserved one, at that. “I will still need to make amends. Tom deserves – ”

“Can we not speculate further on what Tom deserves? That’s not even what he’s – talking about!” Fitzjames’s voice had gone rather agitated; he slumped further forward in his chair until his head bowed, and both palms were braced on the edge of Francis’s bed, resting heavy against clean linens. When next he spoke, it was nearly in a whisper, and he gave a wretched little glance toward the letter that now lay on the floor of the berth. “Goddamn it. He meant me, Francis.”

“What  _ about _ you, then?” 

Slowly, understanding dawned. He had struck his Second full in the face on that same evening. Or something like it. He had hurt James in a blind rage, and had made no apologies for it. 

“Because we came to blows. I – James, you must know that I regret what happened that night. Truly – ”

“Good Christ, man, I do not wish to hear empty atonements for an idiotic act you hardly remember committing!” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. What in the blazes are you asking from me, damn it? Why the hell are you even here?”

James’s head snapped up. Dark, furious eyes had no sooner met Francis’s narrowed gaze when the  _ Erebus  _ Captain moved forward, closed the distance between them, and kissed Francis square on the mouth, pushing them both back against the upright pillows. One hand rested lightly against Francis’s neck while the other sought out his hand, and entwined their fingers together.

Francis stiffened in shock and then sank into the embrace with a soft groan. When James got both hands in Francis’s hair, a violent shudder passed through Francis’s legs; when Francis’s mouth opened hot and wet under James’s, his Second leaned into this sweet heat for less than a second – long enough for Francis to feel one electric swipe of that witty tongue – before James wrenched himself backward with a stuttering gasp, and pressed his forehead against Francis’s ear, panting for breath.

_ “James,” _ gasped Francis against his Second’s cheek. 

His head spun so wildly he was not certain if he was still sitting up.

“Again.” James drew in shallow breath after shallow breath. His hands left Francis’s hair to tighten slowly in the blankets that still pooled over his hips. “Please, say it again.”

“I… ” The dizziness had not yet faded. Francis could hardly think over the harsh drumbeat of his heart against his throat, yet he did not feel ill – simply overwhelmed beyond measure. “Oh, James.”

His Second made a small whimpering noise. “Tom bade me tell you the truth, but I can hardly speak the words. Were you at full strength, I would show you all, Francis. I would show you everything – ”

“Captain?” Without warning, the wardroom door squeaked open, and a cheerful, familiar tenor echoed throughout the Great Cabin. “I’ve your supper ready, if you’re hungry.”

James practically dissolved from Francis’s side, removing himself and the chair to their original place at once before leaping fully to his feet, swiping futilely at his mouth with the back of one sleeve and sweeping several locks of hair back into place, or close enough to it. 

By the time Jopson reached the doorway, balancing a tray and a cup of water in his hands, James was already moving toward the sliver of doorway that remained unoccupied.

“Evening, Jopson.” With a guilty, careless look back at the berth. “Well, Francis. I, ah – I should return to  _ Erebus _ .”

Poor Jopson seemed utterly bewildered. “Oh! I’m so sorry to interrupt, Captain Fitzjames. You don’t have to... ”

“Nonsense, Jopson. I’ll not keep your Captain from his supper.” 

With that, James slipped past the steward and out of the berth as fast as if he’d been shoved pell mell through the doorway. After several seconds, the outer door to the Great Cabin opened and slammed shut once more.

Jopson’s perplexed frown did not alter one whit as he turned back to Francis and set the tray down onto the desk, a clear question in his eyes. 

“Goodness. I really didn’t mean to drive him off, sir. He could have stayed.”

“I know, lad.” Francis had no idea how to tell his steward that James staying would have been impossible – not without giving voice to a variety of topics too fraught to speak aloud. And utterly impossible to put to words. “It’s all right. Captain Fitzjames and I were – through talking, anyway.”

**Author's Note:**

> I totally forgot that I wrote this installment during Carnivale. That may be a sign that I have too many works in progress. ^_^ But I figured I may as well post it so the fandom could enjoy part 2 of this weird little interlude! 
> 
> Title taken from the [Rufus/Chaka Khan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OB4JDJiet5M) song, in the theme of other great '70s slow jams.


End file.
